


Sew your heart to my sleeve

by niallvarnish



Category: One Direction
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Not yet though, Tooth Rotting Fluff, like seriously the boots are massively important in this, matching tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-14 20:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niallvarnish/pseuds/niallvarnish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Dear boy whose boots aren't exactly my favourite,'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Better catch it before it burns this place down

**Author's Note:**

> I have lots of ideas for future chapters, they're just sort of fizzy right now, a bit like champagne, only cheaper. Bear with me. Also, I know just how short my chapters are.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Are you always this sarcastic?'

I hope I don't come across as arrogant, but I can't imagine that anyone can love you more than I do, and evidently not the same way. After all, there are infinite types of love, and the same kind of love can never happen twice. For instance, i don't think anyone, other than me, has started off a conversation with the person they're meant to fall in love with by saying ‘nice boots.’ Actually, they might have, but I highly doubt their story turned out to be as magnificent as ours. 

Your boots weren't nice. I'm a horrible person and a worse liar. They were probably the ugliest piece of footwear I've ever accidentally tripped over while walking around in mid-November looking for a bookshop. I still said it, though, and I hope that counts for something. 'Nice boots.' I probably sounded sarcastic as hell, but you took those two words and turned them into the most endearing story I have ever heard (you also made my heart jump a little, so there). 

You told me that they weren't as old as they appeared to be, but you liked them that way, because they reminded you of your old pair of boots, too worn down to wear anymore. You told me that, in the end, the right one didn't even have a sole (and made a pun with the words 'sole' and 'soul', but I respect whoever is reading this enough not to write it down. Yes, it was that awful.) You said, with an adorable pout that belonged more to the face of a five year old than to yours, that you missed them because they were comfortable and warm, which, by the way, didn't make any sense if the right one was in such a bad state, and then you went on to thank me for the most insincere compliment you'd ever been given. Except for maybe that one about your nose shape, or that one about being a good dancer... you tend to ramble on quite a bit when you talk, you know? 

I hope you know how much I love that about you, because I can focus on how your lips pronounce every single word like it has never been said before in the history of the human race. I can't let myself get too distracted, though, because you'll either catch on quickly and let out a little 'heeeeeeey' that makes me want to kiss you all over or you'll say something incredibly witty, or wise, or tell an impossibly cheesier joke (which, by the way, I love. Please, don't ever stop whispering bad jokes in my ear right before I fall asleep.)


	2. Hold me tight, don't let me breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'The lady here would like another beer, and I would like a few more drunken karaoke nights with her'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still short, still hope you like it. (should I keep writing this?)

I've always liked boys who give forehead kisses. Don't get me wrong, I love kissing in all of its multiple forms, but there's something about having a boy kiss your forehead while he holds you in his arms. Pardon me, there's something about you kissing my forehead while you hold me in your arms. It makes me feel like you care, and maybe even love me. Talk about wishful thinking.

The first time you did it, it took me by surprise. We had only just met that day (you remember the incident with the boots, don't you?) and you asked me if I was up for getting matching tattoos with a complete stranger. I was, or I would have been if I didn't have this stupid self defence mechanism that makes me say no when I mean yes. Instead, I said: 'how about a few drinks first?', and man, I don't even like beer all that much, but I would've done anything for you to say yes (you did). 

And that's how it started. A noisy pub in November, although it wasn't that crowded (it's like you somehow manage to smile loudly), two strangers talking and laughing and drinking and singing along to Fairytale of New York and slightly falling in love with one another. When we stepped out of the pub into the cold air, you asked about matching tattoos again, and whenever I look at the tiny bird on the inside of my wrist I thank whoever is up there for that stupid moment of courage. I know (hope) you do too, because sometimes I'll catch you sneaking glances at my wrist and then your own, small smile gracing your lips, with a fond expression on your eyes, and beer has never tasted as good as it did that night. 

Back to forehead kissing. You pulled me in for a hug and then kissed my forehead after we got our wrists inked, and then we parted ways pretending we would never see each other again. I like to think we both knew that wasn't true. At least I had a tiny piece of hope to hold onto, because I had sneakily saved my number on your phone while you were talking to the tattoo artist about how 'yeah, 53 and counting, this is the most reckless one I've ever gotten.' By the way, I never actually apologised for butting into that conversation by whispering something mean about your foot tattoo (dumbest thing I've ever seen). I got you to do that little pout again, though, so I've always considered it a victory rather than an offence to you. 

To be honest, I just wrote this to thank you for caring about me even when I'm a little shit, which happens more often than not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment or leave kudos or just read and smile dumbly at the ceiling because harry styles is so fucking cute


	3. The world looks better through your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Just chocolate then? I was expecting something a bit wilder from the girl who got a tattoo with a stranger just last week.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cheesy as hell. I want to throw up.

You have my favourite smile on Earth. The kind of smile that makes me want to quote John Green and Taylor Swift all in one sentence. If someone could cure cancer and light up not towns, but continents, with their smile, that would be you. It's fucking contagious and not even those masks you bought in Japan can prevent it. Every minute, someone somewhere buys a pair of sunglasses due to your smile. That's how cheesy it is. 

You have three types of smiles. 

The first one is the cheeky one, the one you're known for. The 'I'm a boy who can make your knickers drop to the floor just by doing this and raising my eyebrows a little bit' smile. The one that makes an appearance when someone's flirting with you and Ritual Union is playing in the background. The smile reserved for quickies in club toilets, the 'seductive smirk', as they like to call it... The smile that says 'I'm an arsehole and you fucking love it.' Seriously, and I cannot stress this enough, that smile deserves its own remake of 'John Tucker must die' (in which you're John Tucker, minus the red lace, I hope). Who doesn't love a player, though? 

You also have the 'cute smile' collection. That one surfaces when someone makes you blush in an interview, or when you stumble out of the tour bus at 4 am with heavy eyelids to take pictures with fans and you forget your shoes. When James Corden makes bad jokes about you fancying older women. When you say objectifying women is not what you're about, and then smile, proud of yourself for using such a big word. (Sorry if I come across as bitter, I just can't wait to get this over with and talk about my favourite smile). 

Then comes the third one. The big one. The one you save exclusively for family members, best friends, little kids and me. Maybe cats too. It's the most sincere smile I've yet to see, and I absolutely love it because it means you're genuinely happy (sometimes I'm the cause for it, so there). Most importantly, it's the smile I saw when we met for the second time a few days after we said goodbye at that tattoo parlour. Yes, you had my number, but was I really worth calling? I told myself it was just a dumb crush and I was determined to get over it and pretend that tattoo was just the result of a drunken night. 

You never called. I knew that maybe you were too busy, maybe you don't go through your contacts list (who does?), yet I couldn't help being disappointed. 

Parlours are a thing for us, aren't they? Not a tattoo one, but three and a half days later we met at an ice cream parlour while I was self indulgently getting a chocolate cone and you were there with Lux, making her choose between vanilla and strawberry and finally deciding on both of them. You wiped her face with a napkin, and you looked around looking for a bin and saw my face instead (easy pun about me being trash anyway, so you found what you were looking for).

I don't really know how to start describing it. First, your eyes widened in recognition, then they flickered to my left wrist for a millisecond, just in case, and then the smile took all over your face slowly, like the waves crashing peacefully on the seashore, like a town's street lights turning on one after another when it turns dark, like I'm running out of analogies and none of them do justice to the way your face lit up. You took a step towards me and hugged me tight with just one arm and kissed my cheek, and would have lifted me off the ground hadn't you been holding Lux's hand.

You payed for my ice cream and said you had thought of calling me but decided to let fate do its work instead (that's the shittiest excuse I've ever heard) and 'look, it seems like it did', and then you asked me out on a proper date, although not right then, because you were babysitting ('and I'm the best babysitter in the world, ain't I, Lux?'). I obviously said yes, and you smiled like that again, and that's the last I've seen of my heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IS ANYONE EVEN READING THIS


	4. I want a fuck and a fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I know that I was wrong, and that means every little thing'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is anyone even reading this???? angsty, as promised. Enjoy!!!

It's been a while since my last letter, hasn't it? i just thought, 'hey, stop writing these, no one cares'. At least you don't. Yes, I know we've had our ups and downs, and I know right now we're three feet underground more than anything, so I was hoping a little letter about us would improve things in the slightest. 

We've always had fights. The best. At first, before we were a proper couple, we could pretend it was just flirty banter. Then, the first time I stayed over, you joked about what a fussy eater I am and I joked about your inability to leave the toilet seat down (none of us were joking). That, however, was a perfect morning. Hell, nothing even happened. We slept together, but that's literally all we did. Fell asleep on your bed while we watched Ja'mie King: private school girl. 

You can't blame me for making your arm go numb, because you were the one being the big spoon, so suck it up. (I guess I can't blame you either for making my heart numb at times. It happens. I should probably suck it up, too.) You can't blame me for panicking at times, and I can't blame you for being as impatient as you are. You can't blame me for not trusting pretty, leggy, blonde girls that try to get with you at clubs, and I can't blame you for coming home late after we shout at one another. You can't blame me for slamming the door so hard the neighbours heard it, and I can't blame you for packing your things in a hurry.

Listen, I don't want to dwell on the things that annoy both of us. I want us to be married until i'm 98 and you're 100, and I want to hold your hand then and kiss your cheek and tell you that I don't give a shit about toilet seats.

When I first stayed at yours, you showed me around, holding my hand so that I wouldn't get lost (you need to work on your excuses, mate). You then cooked dinner because you think you're Gordon Ramsay, only more polite, and it was delicious. After that, we went to bed and watched a bit of the afore mentioned series. You know all of that (I hope you remember). What you don't know, though, is that I had never felt happier as I fell asleep in someone's arms, pretending I wasn't trying to scoot impossibly closer while you pretended not to notice. And, right now, that's what I'd like to do, so please come home and let's make up. Please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. listen to 'every little thing' by young the giant!


	5. Neither one of us want to take that taxi home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Never been too fond of them, to be honest. Mum made me go on one when I was five, I threw up all over my sister. Quite the charmer, ain't I?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somehow more than 100 people have read this and i don't know if i should feel embarrassed or proud. thanks though!!!! sorry about the bit about having fun at a funfair, couldn't help myself

You know when you feel like you're drowning and no one can save you and, more importantly, you can't save yourself, and all you can think of is how the water won't let you breathe even if you desperately need to? And then someone (a certain tall, handsome boy with lion hair and a lion heart and dimples and, of course, stupid boots) takes your hand and holds you in his arms and everything's alright again because you can feel the warmth of the sun on your skin (on his skin) and the oxygen in your lungs and man, how much did you need that. 

Thank you for coming home last night. Thank you for waking me up and making me sit in the empty bathtub with you and thank you for making us talk it all out. I could still feel some uncertainty in your hug when we went to bed two hours later. It went away as soon as you let out a deep breath and buried your face in my neck and smiled (I felt it on my skin. Still can.) 

I have plans for today. For us both, I mean. I was thinking of a remake of sorts, maybe we could reenact that day we went to the funfair? I loved every single second of that day, from the way you wouldn't stop laughing because you were 'having soooo much FUN at this FUNfair' to the stickiness of your nose and cheeks and hands after eating pink candyfloss.

I loved the way I woke up in your bed for the first time ever and then, after breakfast, you walked into the kitchen with a winning smile and a 'wanna come to a funfair with me?'. I wasn't planning on getting involved with anyone, but I think that's the moment where I blew it. I nodded, you nodded, and next thing I know we were standing in front of a roller coaster (both literally and metaphorically, I guess) and you were holding my hand very, very tightly and I was kissing your cheek because I could tell you didn't like roller coasters.

I did, indeed, have loads of fun. After that, we decided to be slightly more clichéd than usual and went for a walk while the sun was busy hiding behind all the tall buildings and we talked about life and music and family and things that matter and things that don't, and then you told me that you really, really liked me and I smiled like an idiot for about three years before stating the obvious ('You're alright too, I guess'). 

I'm still an idiot most of the time. But you seem to be more than okay with that, so we should definitely try and go to a funfair today. Maybe even eat some candyfloss and have fun, if we're lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dorén cried with my last chapter i hope this one makes up for any pain or sadness i might've caused


	6. Excuse me, you're a hell of a guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'why do you know all the lyrics to a Nicki Minaj song? is there something you're not telling me?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DONT STOP ME NOW. or do. please, please do. p.s.: i can't nor do i want to write explicit sex scenes

I woke up today and you weren't there. At first I was worried, who knows, maybe you regretted what you said last night, or got sick of me, or had someone else you'd rather be with. Then you walked in and got into bed. 'Sorry about that, love. Was taking a piss.' The words every girl wants to hear from the boy she loves at 8 a.m.

Half an hour later, you suggested to shower together. Remember when we first did that? It was the morning after the funfair. I woke up and went to the bathroom, blindly searching for my glasses. They were foggy with the steam coming from the shower, where you were very (VERY) into your own rendition of 'Super Bass', which was much appreciated on my part. And recorded on my phone. And sent to Niall afterwards. It's a possibility. 

When you heard me laughing you stopped singing and your head poked out of the shower curtain, but then you saw me and smiled (I think you were embarrassed too? So cute and understandable.) You stepped out of the shower, all naked and wet, took my glasses off me like the bully you are and grabbed me by the waist and got me into the shower. I tried really hard to pretend I was mad about the fact that my tshirt (your tshirt) was completely soaked and you tried really hard to pretend you weren't a smug little shit when you said 'oh, well, best take it off now, right?'. 

You know what, maybe someday we'll actually have sex in the shower. Maybe someday I won't slip up and hit my head against the tiles and you won't be a fucking good person and not laugh at me and check my head and wash my hair and kiss me everywhere and maybe someday I'll get sick of not being able to breathe because there's water in my nose and something else in my mouth and I won't stand the pain of being on my knees any longer. Hell, maybe someday we'll even make love in the bath. 

Look at where we are, though. All happy and very much in love, cuddling on Sunday mornings, getting dressed and going for brunch, and then going back home and getting undressed. Holding hands when we go to Sainsbury's. Kissing in the high street. Laughing at our inside jokes. We're that disgusting couple everyone hates, and I absolutely love it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hi

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment if it makes you feel alive


End file.
